


Self-Abuse of The Highest Order

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anger, Arguing, Banter, Caretaking, Caring, Concern, Discovery, Exhaustion, Insults, Mid-Canon, Multiple Selves, Overworking, Queerplatonic Dark/Host - Freeform, Questions, Relief, Sleep Deprivation, Stress, Surprises, Visions, self-abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 22:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14903399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Dark has been working himself to the bone in an attempt to finish a crucial project. His exhaustion isn’t exactly conducive to getting anything done, however.





	Self-Abuse of The Highest Order

Dark had lost track of how long he’d been here, at least in terms of minutes. There wasn’t a clock in his room; outside time was a social construct. In regards to his  _internal_  clock, it felt as if a cobra had coiled around his spine, squeezing every nerve along the vertebrae as it sank its teeth into the back of his neck. Not even rolling his head to crack it made any dent in the pain now, which meant that he had been here a long, long time—far longer than he was meant to. That only resulted in more frustration because in all that time, he  _still_ hadn’t finished his work.

Worse, his aura naturally amplified all sound when he was under stress, which meant that the shrill, piercing ring that rarely ever bothered him was now drilling against his eardrums, stirring a headache the likes of which gave him an urge to destroy something. The longer he stared down at the papers before him, the less he saw of it.

Without any warning a curse tore itself from his throat, followed by another because of his inability to keep control over his body and mind. Why couldn’t he keep control over  _anything?!_

With this thought raging to the forefront of his mind, he threw himself to his feet, tendrils of his aura snatching up the chair behind him and hurling it at the side wall with a thunderous boom as he swept the papers wildly off the desktop. His hand hit the heavy desk lamp in the process, creating a glancing pain in his fingers that just blended into the rest of his body’s overwrought nerves as he bent over the desk, breathing heavily.

The creak and click of the door handle grated on him and he lifted his head, eyes narrowed. Only one person would enter without knocking—the only one he wouldn’t grievously injure for doing so but in this state, he was reconsidering.

“What do you want?” he growled. His voice was harsher than he had intended but it was out before he could check himself.

“The Host is quite certain that Darkiplier already knows what he wants.”

Pressing his lips together to swallow the fresh slew of curses tempting him, Dark straightened to his full height and tugged shortly on his jacket. “Host, please, I don’t have energy to waste arguing with you…”

“Then the Host suggests that Dark doesn’t argue.” Dark startled, flinching away with a half-grunt of surprise when the Host’s hand landed on his shoulder. When had he crossed the room? “Dr. Iplier informed the Host that Dark has been engrossed in his work for the past thirty-seven hours,” his friend continued, pursing his shoulder a second time. “His body is able to tolerate much more than others, but even he needs a few hours to lie down—”

“You have no idea what I  _need_ ,” Dark accused scathingly, pivoting sharply to face him. “You of all people are one to think you can come in here uninvited and tell me what I need! You have no idea how important this is; you can’t even fathom it! You push yourself past limits and abuse your body as if it is your  _birthright_ , for work that’s small and meaningless, utterly  _worthless_  in the face of mine! And you presume to tell me that I shouldn’t go to the same lengths, that I shouldn’t go  _farther?!_ ”

As soon as he paused for breath, his own words reverberated through his aura back at him, the volume behind them pounding his ears with even more force than the ringing. Overcome with an unexpected sensation of throbbing nausea, he shuddered and fell back a step, groping for the edge of the desk to steady himself. The Host looked on intently, seeming unaffected by the hurtful tirade. When he spoke, his voice was soft, unreadable.

“The Host would hope that his friend, in the scope of the importance of his work, would make wiser, more responsible choices for his body.”

That said, he closed the distance between them a third time, prying open the buttons of Dark’s coat and peeling it away from his body before he could find the strength or the balance to stop him. As soon as the weight was lifted, Dark felt some of the leftover tension leech from his shoulders and ribs, which were finally free to breathe more easily.

As soon as the fallen chair was pulled upright and the coat was draped over it, the Host came back for his tie. Dark was going to protest that, but the words were never allowed to surface; the moment the tie was loosened, the muscles in his neck spasmed and audibly cracked, taking the Host by surprise. Gritting his teeth, the older Ego held up a shaky hand for him to wait, turning his head until his neck cracked twice— _thrice_  more.

“It seems Dark had his tie synched too tightly,” the Host commented offhandedly as he removed the offending item, earning a look that didn’t hold as much of a warning as Dark intended. Now that his neck was free from its noose, soreness was bleeding into every nearby muscle group, cascading all the way down his back and informing him just how spent he was.

“Host…” he muttered faintly, futilely trying to tighten his grip on the desk as his body folded under the exhaustion. It poured over him like scalding water, sweeping him toward what would probably be a painful union with the floor. The Host managed to sidestep and intercept him before he could connect, but now that his body had gotten a taste of freedom, all systems were revolting. His mind went blank and his glazed eyes fell closed, his aura fluttering blue in wordless relief.

The Host breathed a sigh of the same relief as Dark slumped limply against him, already buried in sleep. Once he’d dragged him over to the bed against the left wall, the Host effortlessly pried off his shoes and set them neatly at the foot of the bed before arranging the blankets. Dark never wanted to feel trapped by the sheets, so he only pulled them up to his waist before stepping back to examine him.

Though his aura already tended to suck the life and warmth from his skin, the Host’s flashes of Sight informed him that he was dangerously pale and the hollows under his eyes were deeper than usual, but now that he was finally  _resting_ , the strain in his features had calmed. He didn’t look at peace—he would never be that—but he was at ease for now.

“There is far too much resting on Dark for him to buckle under pressure,” the younger Ego confessed quietly, knowing that he would go unheard. “The Host is there to relieve what pressure he can, but…he can only do so much. He doesn’t like to see his friend in pain. Dark  _concerns_  him.”

The words were swallowed in the silence, leaving nothing but Dark’s slow, deep breathing to fill his ears. Shaking his head, the Host moved his attention to the new dent in the wall, courtesy of the desk chair, and then to the fallen papers Dark had scattered during his tantrum. As soon as he picked them up, he stiffened, a vision rooting him to the spot as it poured into his mind:

He Saw a stately manor, its roof dark against the sky, its rafters filled with shouted whispers and whispered shouts and muffled curses and a crawling sense of sick fascination down his back. His grip on the paper tightened, but under his fingertips it felt like glass; he could See someone in it—

It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, the image fragmenting and scattering into a thousand different pieces. The Host took a hurried breath as soon as it receded, lowering his head over the paper in his hands. Though his Sight was flickering now, as it always did immediately after a vision, he could See the outline of the roof on one sheet and the ornate front porch and door on the next.

Dark was trying to reconstruct this manor, diagramming it, he realized. But why?

Perhaps he would have answers when his friend woke.


End file.
